


Grace for the Sinners

by Zairielon



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, Brothers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, Manipulation, Minecraft, Minecraft in Real Life (kind of), No I mean angst, Platonic Relationships, Spoilers for Dream SMP Season 1 (and the beginning of Season 2), Violence, this isn't a happy story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28061070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zairielon/pseuds/Zairielon
Summary: There are no heroes and villains on the Dream SMP. Every “hero” twists into a darker version of themselves, and every “villain” falls victim to the repercussions of that which they regret.The fallen kings. The child rulers. The exiled, the lost, the broken. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter if they were heroes or villains.They all end up sinners.(A six-part miniseries following the proceedings of the Dream SMP, beginning at the start of Season 2. Occasional strong language.)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit & Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	1. The King Who Wanted Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! A quick disclaimer before we begin: I have changed the beginning of Season 2 to better suit my needs (though Season 1 remains untouched). The start of this story is thus:
> 
> Schlatt is dead, and Tubbo is now president of New L’Manburg. Tommy was exiled shortly after Tubbo taking office. Wilbur died and became an amnesiac ghost, who followed Tommy into exile. No one knows that Wilbur is still “alive,” aside from Tommy. After Tubbo’s inauguration, Techno took off into the wilderness to escape his crimes, joined by Philza. Neither of them have been back to L’Manburg since. Finally, Dream returned to SMP lands and hasn’t made a move in quite some time. People are starting to wonder what he’s up to.
> 
> And, of course, I’ve taken a few other creative liberties… enjoy!

Wilbur leaned over the water's edge. The river lapped at his feet, and with one small move, he would topple in. But his attention focused solely on the fish. It wasn't a big fish. It was a salmon, maybe the size of Wilbur's hands, but it was enough for a good meal.

Wilbur took a deep breath. _I can do it this time,_ he thought. _If I just..._

He clamped his hands around the fish. But the small salmon phased right through his palms and darted away as if nothing had happened.

Wilbur groaned, tiredly sitting back on his haunches. “Tommy!” he called. “I can't catch any fish, and I can't find the fishing pole! Do you know where it is?” A brief silence. “Tommy?”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time. I'm coming.”

Wilbur glanced over his shoulder and found Tommy slowly exiting his tent. The boy hobbled towards him, a crutch propped under one arm and the fishing pole under the other. Tommy's face was screwed in a grimace, and it pained Wilbur how much he was used to the expression. Since the day Wilbur had found him wandering the wilderness, Tommy's face had displayed his pain.

“Were you resting?” Wilbur asked, worried. When Tommy didn't respond, Wilbur plucked the fishing pole from his brother's hands with an apologetic look. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up. I was looking for your-” Wilbur quickly cut himself before the rest of that sentence could escape his runaway mouth. “I was trying to catch you something to eat. Go back to sleep. I'll find something."

Tommy gazed at him for a long moment. There was a weariness to the boy's face that made him look ancient, and Wilbur's heart clenched at the sight. Eventually, Tommy gave him a tired smile.

“Thanks, Will. If I'm not up by sunset, come get me.”

With that, Tommy turned and hobbled back to his tent. Wilbur watched his brother until the boy disappeared beyond the tent flaps.

Tommy was getting worse. Each day, it was harder for Wilbur to keep him moving, harder to make him eat. Wilbur wasn't sure how much longer he could keep his brother alive. Or... how much longer his brother would want to stay alive.

Wilbur glanced down at the fishing pole in his hands. He didn't really understand the rules that bound him. Gravity wasn't a problem, nor was heat, cold, or oxygen, and he could fly through anything that he bloody well pleased. For all intents and purposes, Wilbur was a ghost. But he could still hold _some_ physical objects. It was a strange category, including precious materials (such as diamonds and emeralds) and tools (like the fishing pole).

But Wilbur couldn't touch people. No matter how hard he tried, Wilbur couldn't put a hand on Tommy's shoulder or help his brother bandage his leg. In a way, his selective abilities were worse than none at all. Wilbur longed to do something, _anything_ , to comfort Tommy.

Wilbur shook himself from his dour thoughts. _No use worrying about what I can't do,_ he thought, though it was with miserable acceptance. _I can at least get Tommy something to eat_.

With the fishing pole, it only took Wilbur a couple of minutes to snag a fish. He scaled it (thank god he could still hold a knife) and set it over the campfire to cook. Tommy liked his fish well-done, so hopefully, the salmon would be perfectly cooked by the time his brother woke up.

Wilbur straightened from his place beside the fire and looked around. A ring of trees surrounded them, and beyond the trees lay a thick forest. The river babbled merrily behind them, with Tommy's tent pitched between the tree line and the water. Their resources were tossed around in an organized sort of mess.

Wilbur smiled faintly. “I always used to tell you to clean up after yourself,” he murmured aloud.

“ _Tommy! What the fuck is all this junk?”_

“ _It's organized chaos, Wilbur! Okay, no, listen. I've got the maps over here, the armor over there-”_

“ _And everything else scattered across the floor! Fucking hell, I should never have let you in here. Okay, d'you know what? I'm going to get a box, and I'm going to put everything I find on this table into the box! And then it's all going into the garbage!”_

“ _Will, c'mon, be reasonable!”_

“I am being- _wait, what's that?”_

“ _What's what?”_

“ _That gold gemstone thing. I've never seen anything like it.”_

“ _Oh. That's, uh... honestly, I don't know what it is. Found it when I was mining for iron the other day.”_

“ _Why did you put it on a cord?”_

“ _I dunno, I figured it might have some sort of helpful magical properties. You can have it.”_

“ _Really?”_

“ _Yeah. I mean, I'm not going to do anything with it. You need more magical help than me, anyway, dealing with all of the fucking idiots across the river.”_

“ _...thank you, Tommy.”_

“ _No problem. Does that mean I can keep my stuff? Because, clearly, it's not_ all _worthless junk.”_

“ _...yeah, fine, you can keep your stuff. But can we please throw away all of these dried bread ends? You're never going to eat these. Jesus, they're as hard as fucking rocks.”_

“ _In my defense, I was saving those for Tubbo! He likes feeding the deer!”_

“ _He- no, you just came up with that excuse!”_

Wilbur reached under his shirt and pulled out the gemstone. After a couple of months of research, he'd figured out that it was amber. Supposedly, it was meant to bring the wearer good luck. At the time, Wilbur hadn't believed the whole “good luck” spiel for a moment and had only worn the pendant because Tommy had given it to him. Now, Wilbur couldn't help but wonder if the amber had brought him back. After all... who had ever heard of ghosts that could still touch things?

Again, Wilbur forcibly pulled himself from his thoughts. There was no use dwelling on what he couldn't change. Wilbur still had a couple of hours left until sundown, and he'd spotted a village on their way to this spot. Maybe the villagers would be willing to trade.

After making sure that Tommy was still asleep, Wilbur took off through the trees. He moved much faster than had been possible for him when he was alive, dashing through the forest as if he were nothing more than a gust of wind. A very faint smile tipped Wilbur's lips. Being a ghost did have _some_ perks.

The village was blessedly stocked. Wilbur traded with almost every villager in the town, dumping maps of the area and Ender pearls and food into his backpack. And, when he stole a few bundles of wheat from their farms, the villagers just shrugged their shoulders and let the nice man who had given them lots of emeralds have some of their extra food.

The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon when Wilbur set back towards their campsite. He waved to the villagers as he left.

It was only halfway back through the forest that he realized the oddity of his behavior.

 _Why did I wave to the villagers?_ Wilbur thought, befuddled. _They don't understand me. And even if they did, I don't think they'd care enough to wave back_.

Then, a memory surfaced.

“ _Oh, over there! Wave at the villagers, Will!”_

“ _Tubbo, they don't understand waving. They're not like us.”_

“ _Yes, they do! Look, that one's waving back at me!”_

“ _...yes, they are. That's... Tubbo, how'd you know that?”_

“ _I asked them!”_

“ _You asked them?”_

“ _Yeah! Well, kind of. They just... they respond to it the same way we do.”_

“ _That's pretty good, Tubbo. We're lucky to have someone like you around to be our villager translator.”_

“ _Oh, no, I don't know about that. I just try to listen.”_

There was another new memory. As pointless as the memory itself was, its implications made Wilbur nervous. How many more memories were drifting just beyond his fingertips? This time, Wilbur couldn't push down his burst of panic, and he hurried back to the campsite before he slipped into a nervous breakdown.

The fish was almost done. Wilbur quietly unpacked his bag before taking the salmon off of the fire and setting it on one of the few plates they had left. He set the meal on a log, then went about the rest of the chores he'd assigned himself.

A few minutes later, Tommy emerged from his tent.

“Is it already sunset?” the boy asked blearily.

Wilbur paused in sharpening one of their swords, giving his brother as bright a smile as he could manage. “Yeah, you really knocked out,” he said brightly. His cheer was forced, but hopefully, Tommy wouldn't notice. “I left some food right there, but I think I burnt it a little. Sorry about that.”

Tommy's eyes lit up at the sight of the fish, and for the first time in days, warmth curled around Wilbur's heart.

“No, this is fine,” Tommy said. He shot Wilbur a faint smile. “Truth be told, I like my fish cooked a little well done. This... this looks perfect, actually.”

Wilbur beamed. This time, it was genuine. “Oh, great! I was worried about that all day.”

The next couple of minutes passed in silence. Wilbur finished the sword he'd been working on and set it aside, drifting around the campsite as he straightened everything else up. If Tommy cared that Wilbur kept things obsessively neat, he'd never said anything. Wilbur wasn't sure if his brother didn't care anymore or if he couldn't bear to tell Wilbur to stop.

Eventually, Wilbur ran out of tasks. With nerves clogging his throat, he sat across the fire from Tommy and gazed down into the coals. He'd gotten more and more nervous around his brother in recent days. It was only a matter of time before something slipped and-

“Do you remember where you got that?”

Wilbur flinched, startled out of his thoughts. He looked up and found Tommy's bright eyes already gazing back at him, highlights from the fire dancing around his ocean blue irises.

Wilbur's eyes didn't have color anymore.

“Sorry, what?” Wilbur asked, genuinely lost.

Tommy pointed his fork at Wilbur's chest, and Wilbur glanced down. His heart punched through his ribcage as he realized that he'd never put the amber pendant back into his shirt. It still sat against his sweater, glittering in the firelight.

“Oh, this?” Wilbur gently grabbed the amber stone and held it up. “No, I've no idea,” he said absently. It took all of his self-control not to tear up. “But I have been wondering. I've never seen amber anywhere, not even in the villages. Do _you know_ where I got it?”

Tommy's face broke out in a soft smile. “Yeah,” the boy murmured. “I gave that to you.”

“ _You can have it.”_

“Really?” Wilbur asked. He hated that he was reciting the same conversation they'd had all those months ago. Had it been months or years?

“Yeah.” Tommy chuckled warmly, and Wilbur barely kept from smiling at the rare sound. “We were arguing over something stupid. I think I was being messy or something, I don't know. Anyways, you saw that and asked about it. I'd found it in a ravine and did some research, discovered it was a good luck charm. I was planning to give it to you, but I got embarrassed when you noticed it. So I just told you to take it."

Wilbur bit back a fond smile. “That's... that's really sweet, Tommy,” he said eventually. He barely kept himself from adding, _Thank you. I think you brought me back_.

Tommy shrugged a little, a blush coloring his cheeks. “Yeah, well... I'm just amazed that you- well, the old Wilbur, wore it at all. To be honest with you, I always assumed that he'd put in a box somewhere and forgotten about it.”

A bit of the light in Tommy's eyes dimmed, and agony sliced Wilbur's heart in two.

“No!” he blurted. Tommy frowned, clearly confused, and Wilbur scrambled for a cover. “I mean, you gave it to me, right?” he said hastily. “So, of course, the old me would wear it! It was a gift!”

Tommy's mouth curved in a wan smile. “You didn't quite think like that when you were alive,” he said quietly.

Wilbur's voice died in his throat. In the last days of his life, despite all of his mania, he'd actively chosen to wear the pendant. It had even been one of the first things he'd remembered when he'd woken up as a ghost. He'd gasped and grabbed for the pendant, desperate to make sure it was still there, even though he didn't know what _it_ was.

Even as Philza had gently set him on the ground, Wilbur had clutched the amber stone and let out a sigh of relief.

It looked like fate still wasn't content to let him rest.

“I'm sorry,” Wilbur mumbled.

Tommy's smiled widened a little, and the boy tossed the remnants of his fish into the fire. “Don't apologize,” he said lightly. “You're not that Wilbur. You're... you're the good parts of him, I think. I hope he's at peace now. God knows he deserves it.”

Tears pricked at Wilbur's eyes. He hoped that the fire would hide them.

A couple of hours later, Tommy went back into his tent. Following his injury from a rogue skeleton (hence, the crutch), the boy spent most of his time sleeping and healing. Logically, Wilbur knew that his brother needed a couple more days to recover before they moved on. Still, he was starting to worry about their safety.

Wilbur couldn't explain why he was nervous. But, as he sat on a rock outside Tommy's tent, the familiar tug of anxiety gnawed at his insides.

When the moon was high overhead, Wilbur finally got tired of sitting. He paced aimlessly around the campsite, treading a ghostly hole into the ground as he spiraled round and round the doused campfire. His mind moved the same way, obsessing over every memory that presented itself.

Contrary to what Tommy believed, Wilbur knew everything. Well, what he assumed was everything, anyway. At first, Wilbur truly hadn't remembered anything, and his upbeat, optimistic personality was the only “real” one.

Then, two days later, a chunk of Wilbur's memories had appeared in his head. He'd made a desperate excuse and stumbled away, retching into the bushes and sobbing as he recalled what he'd done to his people – to his family.

It hadn't taken long for the rest of Wilbur's memories to fall into place.

But Wilbur was a selfish man, even in death. He saw how Tommy looked at this version of him (this happy, carefree, innocent version of him) and decided to keep pretending that he didn't remember a thing. Wilbur hadn't intended to lie to his brother for so long. But his weary heart couldn't bear to be the cause of Tommy's pain any longer. Seeing Tommy smile at him instead of screaming, “ _I wish you were dead!_ ” was a balm over the soul-sucking built that threatened to drown him.

A branch snapped.

Wilbur was alert in seconds, and fear drove through his heart. The forest was silent. But Wilbur was on edge, and he'd long since learned to trust his instincts. He grabbed a sword from the pile, then slunk into the trees.

That was the one other perk of being a ghost: Wilbur didn't make a single sound unless he chose to. He crept through the brush, scanning, searching. What was it now? Who dared to bring Tommy any more misery?

 _Who, except for me_.

After ten minutes of fruitless searching, Wilbur started to think that his instincts had been wrong. Then a flash of white appeared between the trees, and Wilbur's heart froze.

Dream?

Wilbur sprinted towards the shadowy figure. What would Dream be doing all the way out here? He and Tommy had stuck to the wilderness for a reason; no one left established territory. Especially Dream, who usually stayed with his people in SMP lands. The last time he'd traveled so far...

Oh no. Dream knew where Tommy was.

Wilbur ran faster, desperately praying that he was wrong. Maybe that flash of white had been a trick of the moonlight, or a startled deer, or-

The trees momentarily cleared, and they revealed Dream in all his terrible glory. The man slid through the forest on silent feet as if he were nothing more than a ghost himself. Suddenly, he paused, glancing over his shoulder. Panic seized Wilbur's heart in a vice, but Dream's gaze swept right past him. After a moment, the man continued along his path.

Wilbur took a sharp breath and kept running.

He didn't know what Dream wanted. He didn't know how Dream had found Tommy. But Wilbur knew one thing, one thing he was so desperately sure of that he would bet his afterlife on it.

Dream was the cause of his anxiety. Dream was the “wrong thing.”

Due to his ghostly boost, Wilbur beat Dream to the campsite. If his count was right, he had four, maybe five minutes to get Tommy up and gone before Dream showed up. Wilbur suppressed his frenzy and flew around the campsite, throwing all of their essential belongings into Tommy's backpack and shoving the rest into his (thank god he had no concept of weight).

“Wilbur? What are you doing?”

Wilbur whipped around. Tommy was standing outside his tent, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

“We've got to go,” Wilbur hissed.

Tommy frowned. Belatedly, Wilbur realized that he hadn't used that tone with his brother since he'd been alive and had probably just blown his cover of being an amnesiac. But Wilbur was willing to face Tommy's anger and disappointment. He couldn't face the thought of Tommy being killed by Dream.

“Why?” Tommy asked slowly. His hesitation was evident, and Wilbur's heart sank. “What's going on?”

Wilbur didn't answer, instead just slinging his backpack over his shoulder and beginning to tear down Tommy's tent. Tommy let out an indignant splutter, but Wilbur batted his brother's hands away. “Tommy, Dream is coming!” he said hurriedly. “You have to trust me! I'm absolutely positive that he does not have good intentions!”

Tommy took a step away. “And you do, Wilbur?”

Wilbur's heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Tommy's suspicion and anger were a mirror image of how he'd looked before. Wilbur fucked it up again, and now, Tommy would never trust him.

Wilbur had lost his brother for good.

But if he only had one last night, he had to get Tommy out of here.

“Tommy, _please,_ ” Wilbur said. His voice cracked, and shame spread through his chest. But he didn't back down. “Look, I'll leave after this, okay? I'll just disappear, and you'll never see me again. But _please,_ just trust me one more time. We have to get out of here.”

Tommy was silent for a long moment. A maelstrom of emotions whirled in his eyes, and it took everything Wilbur had to meet his brother's gaze. Finally, Tommy nodded.

“Okay,” the boy muttered. “Give me my backpack.”

Wilbur sagged in relief and did as he was told. Two minutes later, their campsite was packed up, and they were making their way across the river. Wilbur had even taken the liberty of burying their campfire, so no trace of them remained.

Somewhere nearby, a bush rustled.

Tommy's eyes widened. Wilbur frantically pressed a finger to his lips, waving for Tommy to make smaller steps through the water. Tommy nodded ever so slightly, and with bated breath, he continued through the shallows, using the rocks as silent stepping stones. Wilbur made sure that Tommy crossed safely, then hurried across himself, waving his brother into the trees. Before he followed, however, Wilbur turned back one last time.

Dream stood in the remains of their campsite. The man was crouched, sweeping his fingers through the dirt.

 _Please,_ Wilbur prayed. _Don't find anything_.

After a brief eternity, Dream stood. His lips twisted with fury, and he lashed out at one of the logs with an animalistic growl. Dream's iron-tipped boots smashed through the wood as if it were nothing more than sand.

A shudder ran down Wilbur's spine like a trickle of ice water.

Dream looked around one more time, then disappeared back into the trees. Wilbur stood there for several minutes to make sure that the other man was really gone. Eventually, he turned and caught up to Tommy. His brother was curled under a tree, knees tucked to his chin. Tommy didn't even look up as Wilbur approached.

Wilbur sat wordlessly.

They stayed like that until the sun rose. A beautiful sunrise crept over the tips of the trees, and to the rest of the world, it was a magnificent herald of a brand new day. To Wilbur, it marked his final separation from his brother.

“It's you, isn't it, Wilbur?”

Tommy's voice cut through the silence like a hot knife. Wilbur tore his gaze from the carpet of leaves and twigs at his feet and looked up. Tommy stared right back at him, blue eyes heavy with the wear of someone much older than he was.

“You...” Tommy cleared his throat. “You remember everything, yeah? You remember everything we did together. L'Manburg. How you... died.”

Oh, how Wilbur wanted to make excuses. How he wanted to pretend that he was still just a dumb, happy ghost that Tommy saw as an oblivious friend. But he owed his brother more than that.

“Yeah,” Wilbur rasped. “I'm s- I'm so sorry, Tommy. I didn't remember anything at first, but then, it all came back, and I-” Wilbur coughed a laugh. Even after all the time they'd spent together, Wilbur had never let Tommy see him cry. “You didn't hate me anymore,” Wilbur whispered. Tears slipped down his cheeks. “I was just your brother again. And I thought, 'it doesn't matter, right?' It's not like you'd have anything to say to the old me. I just... I just wanted to be a good brother again. God knows I failed you enough when I was alive.”

Wilbur scrubbed at his eyes, trying to hide the sobs that shook his shoulders.

How had everything come to this?

After a long, long moment, Wilbur forced his tears away and clambered to his feet. “I promised that I'd leave, and I will,” Wilbur mumbled. He placed his backpack next to Tommy, careful not to drop it. “I won't make things harder for you. I... I'm sorry, Tommy. I'm sorry for everything. My only wish is that you find happiness in this life.”

Wilbur turned to the forest. It was so vast compared to the simple life that he'd built with his brother. It hadn't been the best, or even very easy, but it was better than being alone.

But Wilbur had destroyed that, too. He destroyed everything he touched.

He took a couple of unsteady steps into the trees.

“Wait.”

Wilbur froze. Hope threatened to pick up his heartbeat, but he shoved the feeling down and turned back to Tommy. The boy was on his feet, both backpacks abandoned next to him.

“You think I hate you?” Tommy asked quietly.

Tears plucked at Wilbur's eyes once again. “Yes.”

An uneven smile spread across Tommy's face. “Then you're a fucking idiot.”

In the blink of an eye, Tommy had crossed the distance between them and wrapped Wilbur in a fierce hug. Wilbur gasped as Tommy's hands dug into his sweater, holding them together. Fearfully, with trembling hands, Wilbur put his arms around Tommy's shoulders. He felt the fabric of his brother's shirt between his fingers. He- _he felt the shirt!_

“I don't hate you,” Tommy said quietly, his voice even further muffled by Wilbur's shoulder. “I never did. I just wanted you back, Will. You.”

Wilbur's body shook with a thousand different emotions. He swallowed thickly and rested his chin on top of Tommy's head, letting his tears fall.

“I'm back, Tommy,” he whispered. “I'm never leaving you again. You're stuck with me, you understand?”

Tommy laughed. It was a watery laugh, but a real one. “Yeah. You'd better keep that promise.”

“I will. I _promise_ you, I'm never leaving.”

Wilbur squeezed his brother tighter, and for a long, long time, they just stood there, together. Wilbur knew that as soon as he let go, the conditional rules would crash back into place. So he held on for dear life and prayed that whatever god had raised him from the dead wouldn't take his soul from the living plane.

Wilbur refused to rest until Tommy could, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! If you are so inclined, please leave a comment! I’d love to hear your thoughts :D
> 
> Next update is coming late Friday (18th)!


	2. The Blade Stained With Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! This chapter was just a blast to write, so I hope y'all enjoy it as much as I do! 
> 
> But before we begin: I updated the notes on the first chapter to better explain the setting of this story. If you want a little more context, go back and check those notes before starting this chapter! I'm starting to realize that I probably should have written the "prequel" to this story before I took on this venture lol. Maybe I can make this into a series 👀
> 
> Enjoy!

When Techno opened his eyes, it was still dark outside. For a moment, he just laid there, listening to the quiet rustle of the early morning breeze and enjoying the warmth of his sleeping bag. Then he remembered why he'd woken up early. Techno reluctantly sat up, letting out a soft groan as his right shoulder screamed in pain. Another rough night.

Techno rubbed his shoulder absently and looked around the small tent. To his right, Phil was still sound asleep. The shorter man had his wings tucked around himself, quietly snoring. Techno smiled faintly. It was good to know that Phil slept peacefully.

It took him five more minutes before he could work up the will to move. But, eventually, Techno clambered to his feet. He moved silently through the tent, snagging his cloak, pulling on his boots, and pushing the tent flaps back without a word. Phil deserved to sleep a little longer.

It was even colder outside. The gentle breeze that Techno had been listening to now whistled around him, cold fingers pulling at the hem of his shirt. The sun just barely peeked over the horizon. Before, Techno would have ignored both sunrise and cold and continued on with his morning. Now, he paused, admiring the colors that painted the sky. Oranges, golds, pinks...

Reds.

A shudder shot down Techno's spine. He turned away from the sunrise. After slipping his cloak over his shoulders, Techno grabbed a crossbow, a couple of small knives, and a single flare (it never hurt to be prepared). He took a deep breath, then strode into the forest.

While searching for a place to set up camp, Techno and Phil had quickly agreed on the edge of a large forest. The trees were scarce, and the brush even scarcer. Still, it provided minimal food and wood – two things necessary to survive in the harsh tundra.

But, if Techno was honest, he didn't consider the tundra a harsh place. On the contrary, he liked the minimalism of snow against dark trees and the simple life that forced him to only take what he could carry. In a way, it was easier than living in luxury. More of one's purpose could be found in the day-to-day motions of life.

Techno shook himself out of his head with an annoyed scowl. For god's sake, he wasn't in the forest to contemplate life! He was there to hunt so that he (and Phil) could eat another day.

The forest was quiet, with only falling leaves and that same rustling breeze disturbing the silence. Techno's boots were silent on the thick snow, and he moved as quietly as the foxes and wolves that also frequented the land. Techno had learned a lot from the local predators.

Finally, something broke the silence. Techno crouched low, straining his ears. The noise was coming from his right. Techno pressed his back to a thick tree, then carefully peered around it.

A deer stood across the clearing, munching from a bush. It seemed to have no idea that it had company.

Techno looked around. _No other deer, no kids, no enemies,_ he thought absently when his search came up empty. _It's gotta be an older one, from the look of its haunches. Might have gotten separated from its herd_.

Ultimately, it didn't matter. The deer didn't have any fawns, so Techno pulled his crossbow from his back. He drew the bolt, aimed down the sight, and steadied his hands.

The crossbow bolt gleamed in the early sunlight.

“ _Kill him! Now!_ ”

In the blink of an eye, the landscape changed. Techno was no longer in a beautiful, white tundra. Instead, he stood in the old Manburg, a different crossbow in his hands. To his left, Jschlatt stared at him with a manic grin. In front of him... Tubbo pressed against the back of a small cage, eyes wide and filled with terror.

“ _Kill this little traitor, Techno,_ ” Schlatt hissed. The man sounded animalistic, and, as his grin stretched further, it seemed as if he was about to grow fangs. “ _Or we kill you. It's a very simple trade._ "

Tubbo shrunk further into himself. “ _Please, Techno,_ ” the boy gasped out. “ _I'm not- I'm- please, don't kill me! I haven't-_ ”

“Q _uiet!_ ” Schlatt roared, spittle flying from his lips. “ _Techno, fucking do it!_ ”

Tubbo's words melted into a babbling mess and the boy sank to the floor of his prison, tears streaming down his face. Techno's hands trembled. He felt Schlatt's eyes piercing through his very soul, threatening to shatter him into pieces. His heart raced, and his breaths become nothing more than short gasps.

“ _I'm sorry, Tubbo,_ ” he said. It wasn't the present Techno, but the past Techno, voice calm and steady and completely apathetic. “ _Close your eyes._ ”

Tubbo didn't. He just stared, eyes red-rimmed and shoulders heaving with sobs.

 _No!_ Techno tried to shout. But he was powerless in his own body. He could only watch, horrified as he released the crossbow., and the stage exploded with a vicious howl. Techno was tossed into the air like he'd been swatted by a god. Vaguely, Techno heard himself shouting something about revolution, but he couldn't focus on the words. His heart was on the verge of exploding, and his lungs gasped for air that didn't come.

 _He'd killed Tubbo_.

Techno crashed to the ground. Something in his right shoulder popped, but Techno ignored the hot tendrils of pain and scrambled to his feet. Several Manburg security guards were already rushing towards him, weapons out and snarls plastered across their faces. Fireworks exploded above, showering everything in sparks and ash.

“ _Get him!_ ”

That was Schlatt, standing on the ruined stage. His underlings were crouched over what Techno could only assume was Tubbo's scorched corpse.

Techno's stomach twisted with nausea. Then he was running, sprinting through Manburg like Hell itself chased him. He hit the forest line and kept going, branches whipping across his face and cutting up his arms as he went. Techno still held onto his sword, but it was getting heavier and heavier by the minute. Could he even defend himself if he was followed?

_I killed Tubbo, I killed Tubbo, I killed Tubbo, I killed-_

“Techno!”

Fear plunged through Techno's heart, and he whirled, frantically scanning the trees. No one was there. He couldn't even hear anything aside from his own gasping breaths.

“Techno, it's me. Breathe.”

This time, Techno recognized the voice. The owner of the voice hadn't been at the Festival, nor was Techno physically at Manburg. Techno took a shuddering breath, and as quickly as it had happened the first time, the scene changed. Manburg disappeared. In its place, the stark white of the tundra and the smears of brown trees stretched around him like a snowy ocean. Techno's heart finally began to settle.

“There you go. Are you okay?”

Techno sighed heavily. “I'm fine,” he muttered. “The deer is gone, isn't it?”

Phil reached for something beyond Techno's line of sight. When he brought his hand back, he held Techno's crossbow, minus the bolt. “I only saw this,” the shorter man said quietly. “Couldn't even find the bolt. Either you're the luckiest man in the world, and you somehow managed to hit the deer, or they both got lost into the snow.”

Techno pressed his palms into his eyes, scowling against his building headache. Crossbow bolts and arrows were both in very short supply. And he'd just lost one. “They're both gone,” he muttered darkly. “I'm sorry, Phil. I thought-”

“Don't you dare start on that.”

Something nudged his shoulder, and Techno reluctantly took his hands away from his face. Phil was holding out a hand.

“You don't get to start doubting yourself over this,” the shorter man said firmly. “It's still early. We'll find something else.”

Techno stared at the offered hand for a moment. Then, with what felt like the most tremendous effort of his entire life, Techno accepted Phil's help and hauled himself to his feet. “I think I passed another empty pasture on the way here,” Techno mumbled. “We could try there first.”

A grin spread across Phil's face. “Alright, we'll start there. Though, next time, I'd appreciate it if you'd wake me up first. You're too quiet. I can't always hear you when you leave.”

Techno smiled faintly. “I was actually trying to sneak out, so waking you up would have defeated the whole point of my mission.”

Phil laughed, and the sound brought a genuine smile to Techno's face.

For the next hour or so, Techno and Phil wandered the forest, searching for their next meal. Techno scared the first deer they found with a sneeze. The second time, a branch snapped and made Techno flinch, also scaring the deer. Things only went downhill from there, and by the time they returned to their camp, Techno was miserable.

Techno set up a fire but left the cooking entirely to Phil (the man was an absolute god when it came to food. It was uncanny). He opted to settle himself on a log and stare into the fire.

Fire.

It burned a deep crimson at the embers and a faint amber at the tips.

Ash fluttered through the air.

“ _Kill him!_ ”

“Here.”

Techno blinked. A small basket of dried meat and bread was being offered to him. He shot Phil a tired but grateful smile, accepting the meal. The warmed bread was a blessed relief compared to the chill of the air. Techno ripped off a piece and chewed absently, gazing around their small camp.

It wasn't much. But it was good enough to be a temporary home. And, of course, it had Phil. That was more than enough to make it home.

“It's getting worse, isn't it?”

Speak of the man himself. Techno glanced up and found Phil looking at him from across the fire, the shorter man's bright eyes partially obscured by his hair.

“The flashbacks,” Phil continued quietly. “I can't break you out of them as easily as I could before. And I know you barely slept last night.”

Had it been anyone else, Techno would have given them a harsh glare and not said a word. But, then again, no one else would be with Techno in the middle of nowhere, living off of barely enough supplies to get them through each day.

Techno sighed and rested his chin on his palm. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I'm... I'm not doing so good.”

The corners of Phil's mouth twitched in an exasperated smile. “I think that's an understatement.” The shorter man stood, rounding the fire and sinking to the log next to Techno. Techno instinctively leaned into Phil's shoulder. “Let me see your hands,” Phil said gently. “Do I need to change the bandages?”

“I don't think so,” Techno mumbled. But he obediently held out his hands and let Phil hold them.

Phil's eyes were intense as he examined the bandages that wrapped around Techno's knuckles. _I don't deserve to have him here, worrying about me,_ Techno thought absently. _It's terrible out here. Why'd he come with me?_

“I think they're doing okay,” Phil announced, after a long moment of silence. “Just, please...” Phil sighed quietly, and he met Techno's gaze with tired eyes. “Be careful.”

Guilt squeezed Techno's chest in a vice-like grip. “Yeah. I will be.”

The rest of breakfast went by in relative silence. Phil didn't move from his spot at Techno's side, and if Techno was honest, he was glad for that. He'd been feeling more and more nervous recently. Most of the time, he didn't even have a reason. It wasn't as if Phil or the tundra made him nervous; in fact, they probably helped. No, Techno's problems were all in his head.

Everything was in his head.

“Alright, that's the last time I can eat bread and jerky for a while.” Phil stood with a groan, tossing his empty basket towards the pile they'd amassed (Techno had discovered that weaving baskets was an excellent way to occupy his hands). “I'm gonna go out again. You up for another hunt?”

Techno looked down at his hands. They were still shaking. “No, uh, I'll stay here,” he muttered. “Don't go too far.”

Phil chuckled warmly, and he squeezed Techno's shoulder. “Don't worry. I'll make sure I'm within sprinting distance in case I need your help.”

Phil went about collecting supplies for his second hunting trip, and Techno couldn't help but think, _What if I can't get to you in time?_ Phil was one of the most competent people Techno knew, but the man was still human. Phil was still subject to illness, injury, death-

“ _Technoblade, kill him, or you die!_ ”

“Hey.”

Techno flinched, instinctively reaching to smack the hand on his arm away. It took him a painfully long time to remember that it was just Phil.

“Keep yourself busy,” Phil said softly. “You'll feel better.”

Techno nodded numbly. Despite his unspoken agreement, he didn't move for several minutes after Phil left. Only when the fire gave a loud _Snap!_ (and almost sent him into cardiac arrest) did Techno stand and make use of himself.

For a while, Techno distracted himself with menial chores. It was boring, to be sure, but in just the mind-numbing way that Techno needed. He tended to their small garden, cleaned the furnaces, and prepared new bread to be baked. But once all that was done, Techno's hands still itched to work, so he began building a small house. After all, with all the other utilities they had, they should have protection from the elements.

Techno quickly found that laying stone wasn't as mind-numbing as making bread.

He'd only placed a few layers when everything started swimming before his eyes. The stones melted like jelly, mushing together into hideous blobs. They almost looked like... like...

A body.

Panic shot through Techno's body like ice in his blood, and he drove his boot into the small wall. It toppled, and his vision snapped back into focus. The stones were completely solid. Techno took a shuddering breath. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and nausea cramped his stomach. For a moment, he was sure that he would be sick.

“ _Techno, please! I don't-_ Techno!”

“I'm sorry,” Techno mumbled aloud. He clapped a hand over his mouth, collapsing to his knees. “I'm so sorry. I-”

“Techno!”

His nausea evaporated. Techno was back on his feet in a second, scanning the pristine landscape for black robes and blond hair. He quickly picked out Phil running full-tilt towards him.

“What's going on?” Techno demanded.

Phil gestured wildly at the furnaces as he sprinted for the tent. “Go dark, _right now._ ”

Techno needed no further explanation. He lunged at the campfire, dumping the snow bucket that always sat nearby onto the coals. Techno didn't even wait for the small fire to splutter out before he dashed to the furnaces. He extinguished those fires the same way, just barely remembering to pull out the half-cooked bread in time.

From somewhere in the distance, shouts rose.

“How long do we have?” Techno hissed. “The coals won't just instantly freeze.”

Phil collapsed their tent and began dragging it into the woods. “Five minutes, no more,” he whispered back. “Cover me.”

Techno raced after Phil, tossing fresh snow over the plow that their tent made. With the tent gone, the only thing left was their supplies. Those were packed within seconds. But Techno's anxiety wouldn't fade. Signs of life still remained: the logs around the campfire, the broken sticks littered around, the footprints.

And the broken wall.

“Phil, come over here,” Techno ordered. He began stomping around the broken wall, toppling a few more stones as he went. Phil joined him with nothing more than a curious glance. Techno ignored the look. He'd explain what had happened when they had more time.

The shouting grew louder.

“Time to go,” Phil muttered.

The shorter man held out Techno's pack, which he accepted and slung over his shoulder. Together, they took off into the forest.

“How many?” Techno asked lowly.

Phil shook his head slightly. “We can't fight them.”

“Why not? Between you and me-”

“No, Techno, we _can't_. If they know you're out here, they'll never stop looking for us.”

Techno's complaints died in his throat. _The only reason Phil can't go back to L'Manburg is that he threw his lot in with me_. Techno shut up and followed Phil silently to the top of the hill.

At the top of the hill was a small cove. When they'd established their camp, one of the first things Techno and Phil had done was create a hideout in case they needed to evade detection. At the time, Phil had jokingly commented that they'd probably end up using it as storage, and Techno had chuckled. He should have known better than to hope.

Techno and Phil slipped into the cove just as figures appeared over the hill. Techno pressed himself flat against the ground, heart racing. Why was he so nervous? He'd been in worse situations a thousand times before.

Phil pressed against his shoulder, and Techno's nerves ebbed.

The figures kept moving towards the abandoned camp, and slowly, they came into sharper focus. There were six people, each wearing some sort of blue jacket and wielding iron swords. At first, nothing about them was distinguishable. Then, one of them turned towards Techno and Phil's hiding spot, revealing their full outfit.

L'Manburg. It was a L'Manburg uniform.

Techno's lungs stopped working. He tried to keep his breathing even and level, but fear and panic clawed at the edges of his composures, ripping away chunks at a time. Techno gave Phil a desperate look, only to find the shorter man's bright eyes already fixed on him.

 _What's wrong?_ Phil's eyes asked.

Techno could only gasp in response.

Below them, the six L'Manburg soldiers were looking around. Techno knew he should be paying attention and getting ready to run, but god, he couldn't focus!

The snowy hill dissolved.

Techno was back in L'Manburg, leveling a crossbow at Tubbo once again. This time, Schlatt looked absolutely demonic. His horns were cracked, and his grin stretched too wide, showing off pointed fangs. Tubbo looked even worse. The boy was crumpled on the floor, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“ _Finish him off, Techno,_ ” Schlatt purred. The former president's voice was edged with insanity. “ _You've already beaten him half to death. Just put him out of his fucking misery._ ”

 _What?_ Techno thought desperately. _I didn't-_

Tubbo looked up. The boy's right eye was one black bruise, and it looked like his jaw was badly broken. He clutched one arm feebly over his ribs, the other dangling uselessly at his side. With horrifying certainty, Techno realized that somehow, he _had_ done this to Tubbo.

“ _No more,_ ” Tubbo whispered. “ _Please, Techno... just kill me. Tell Wilbur and Tommy that I love them._ ”

“ _I'm sorry, Tubbo,_ ” Techno's voice said. He sounded soulless. Like it was just another day.

 _Stop!_ Techno pleaded. Who was he even pleading with, himself? God, Techno didn't know, but he had to do something! He couldn't let Tubbo die!

Techno's finger pulled the trigger.

“ _No!_ ”

Someone else threw themselves in front of the crossbow. Techno reared back, startled. No, this wasn't right. He hadn't killed-

The person looked up. Tears filled familiar dark eyes, and as they slowly dropped to their knees, their beanie fell to the ground in a heap.

“Wilbur?” Techno stammered. He desperately tried to understand what was happening, but nothing was making sense. “No, you're not supposed to be here. You're not- you're not here. You and Tommy-”

Wilbur looked up. His eyes were quickly losing their light, and his lips trembled. “ _Why'd you kill Tubbo?_ ” Wilbur asked in a barely-there voice. He tried to reach for Techno but ended up collapsing on his face. “ _W-why'd you kill me?_ ”

“I didn't!” Techno protested frantically. “I didn't! You- you died when- when-”

He had killed Wilbur, hadn't he?

Techno's chest collapsed in itself, and he choked, backing away from Wilbur's body. He'd done this. _He'd done this_.

The stage exploded.

Techno had killed Wilbur. If he'd never killed Tubbo, _if he'd just stood his goddamn ground,_ Schlatt would have died that day. If Schlatt was already dead, the last battle wouldn't have happened, and Wilbur-

Wilbur would still be alive.

Techno had killed Tubbo and Wilbur. On the day of the Festival, Techno had condemned both of them to terrible fates.

A hand clamped over his mouth.

Panic colored Techno's mind. He thrashed wildly against the hand, trying to lash out at whoever was holding him. Was it Schlatt, having descended from the stage? Was it one of the L'Manburgians, or maybe someone from the Dream SMP? Even worse... was it Tubbo or Wilbur, seeking to exact their revenge?

“Techno, Techno, listen to my voice. It's me. Take a deep breath. No, no, don't reach for your sword. It's me, Phil. You're safe; you're with me.”

Fear choked Techno like a noose, but he did as he was told and took rasping breaths. To his amazement, he found he could breathe again.

“There you go. Keep breathing. In and out, Techno, do it with me. In. Out.”

After several deep breaths, the haze in his head cleared. Techno finally registered the voice that whispered in his ear, and Techno glanced to his left. Phil gazed back at him, face creased with worry. Techno nodded once, hesitantly. _I'm okay_.

Phil took his hand away from Techno's mouth.

The L'Manburg soldiers still wandered around their campsite, so Techno knew he hadn't been lost for too long. A couple of the soldiers kicked at the logs, and another examined the broken wall that Techno had made earlier. But none of them seemed particularly interested in what they were doing. And none of them looked up.

Finally, the soldier by the wall turned to the others. “Even if this was Technoblade's campsite, he's long gone,” she shouted. “It looks like there was some sort of fight over here. Maybe someone else already got to him.”

Another soldier sighed loudly. “No one's been here for weeks,” he announced. “Let's go. Technoblade wouldn't be hiding in this frozen shithole.”

“Quackity isn't going to like this,” a third soldier muttered.

The second soldier huffed. “Well, he can not like it all he wants. We can't summon Technoblade with these frozen coals. Come on. I can't feel my feet.”

The soldiers gathered their things and marched out of the campsite, most of them swearing and complaining as they went. They quickly disappeared over the next hill, and their voices faded into the whistling wind.

Techno and Phil didn't move for another hour.

When they finally extracted themselves from the cove and descended the hill, Techno's hands were numb, and his right shoulder screamed even louder.

“Well, those idiots should keep us hidden for the next month,” Phil muttered. The shorter man dropped his pack onto the ground and sank onto one of the logs. “Damn. They really fucked around down here. I should sue for the destruction of private property.”

Techno gently kicked one of the campfire's boundary stones back into place. “I don't think we can collect money on an entire tundra,” he said dryly.

Phil only let out a heavy sigh in response. For a long moment, the two of them stood in silence, looking around at the mess that L'Manburg had made of their temporary home. Eventually, Phil slapped his legs and got back to his feet. Techno didn't want to admit that the sudden movement had nearly given him a heart attack.

“I'll start setting things up again,” Phil muttered. “And, uh... I guess we'll go from there.”

The constant good-nature was gone from Phil's face. The shorter man looked suddenly exhausted, and dark bags that Techno had somehow never noticed hung under his eyes.

“I'll chop down a tree,” Techno blurted. It came out more awkwardly than he'd meant it to, but at least he'd said it aloud. “Give me an axe. I'll get some firewood for tonight.”

A warm smile tipped Phil's lips. “Okay. Thanks, Techno.”

Techno just shrugged in reply, but his heart sang at Phil's smile. He'd never realized how much he depended on seeing Phil bursting with life.

After accepting the axe that Phil held out and dumping his pack on the ground, Techno headed into the forest once more. He was starting to memorize small landmarks, and he quickly made his way to a patch of older trees that he'd discovered a few days beforehand. Techno allowed himself a thin smile as he raised the axe. Dying trees made the best firewood. Maybe he and Phil could finally be warm.

The axe blade crashed into the tree, and immediately, the bark shattered like ice, splinters flying everywhere. _That's not good,_ Techno thought blankly. Then the tree began to tip over. Techno scrambled backward just in time to avoid being crushed.

The tree had split into three, revealing severe internal decay. It was a wonder that it had stayed standing as long as it had.

Techno didn't move for several seconds. Finally, he inhaled sharply and clambered to his feet, retrieving his axe from nearby. He ignored the fact that his hands were shaking and his heart was in his throat.

Well, that tree was now useless. Techno doubted he could carry it back to the campsite without impaling himself. He glanced around for another candidate and quickly spotted one a couple of paces away. Techno shuffled over to the new tree, lifting up a silent prayer that it hadn't decayed as well. He raised the axe.

Pain exploded in his fingertips.

Techno dropped the axe with a startled cry. He cradled his right hand to his chest, wincing against the smarting pain. When it finally died down, Techno looked at his hand.

Splinters were embedded in Techno's fingers. Some were tiny, but others stuck out like mini knives, blood seeping from the wounds.

Blood.

Techno's eyes fell to the axe at his feet.

“ _Kill him, Technoblade! You already brought him this far, huh? Just put him down! Put him down like a lame dog!_ ”

“ _Why'd you kill me, Techno? I was trying to save Tubbo... I was trying to save everyone._ ”

Anger exploded in Techno's chest in an uncontrollable wave. He clenched his fists, ignoring the sting from the splinters. He'd killed Tubbo, and he'd killed Wilbur. So many people had already been hurt. So many people had died. And Techno had added to that death count by killing his own family.

The anger finally became too much for him to contain, and Techno lashed out at the tree he'd been about to chop down. The bark split, and one of the bandages on Techno's knuckles ripped apart like little more than paper.

Techno drove his other fist into the tree.

Left, right, left, right.

So many people were dead.

_Left, right, left-_

Some of Techno's own family were dead.

_**Left, right-** _

He'd killed them.

A scream of fury burned up his throat and pushed its way out. All of his hate, anger, and misery poured out with it, and Techno drove his right hand into the tree with all the force he could muster.

Then the anger was gone.

Techno sank to his knees, staring blankly at the tree. It was broken and fractured, irreparably damaged by the abuse Techno had put it through.

Techno burst into tears.

The chasm in his chest raked poisonous, black claws over his heart, and Techno collapsed. He sobbed into the ground, his hands shaking from the bone-deep pain. Techno buried his hands under the snow, but it didn't help. It did nothing to relieve the agony that coiled around his neck.

Strong arms wrapped around Techno's shoulders.

“I'm sorry,” Techno choked out. “Tubbo, Wilbur... I killed them. _I killed them_.”

Wings suddenly settled around Techno as well, pressing him closer to another person. Techno finally pulled his face from the snow and found Phil sitting next to him, bright eyes fixed on his. Fresh guilt and shame welled up in Techno's chest.

“You didn't kill either of them, Techno,” Phil murmured. “Tubbo's alive. He's in L'Manburg right now. And you didn't kill Wilbur, I did.”

Techno couldn't control the tears that poured down his face. He shook his head weakly, feebly trying to push Phil away from him. _Before I kill you too_ echoed around his mind. But Phil just held him tighter, even going as far as to rest his head against Techno's shoulder. Faced with such love, Techno fell apart. His last vestige of strength abandoned him, and he slumped against Phil's chest.

“Oh, Jesus, Techno...”

Phil gently took one of his hands, so Techno cracked his eyes open.

The bandages on Techno's hand were gone. His knuckles were purple with bruises, and blood dripped from several scratches that decorated his skin. The scabs that Techno had just started to develop over the older cuts and scrapes had been ripped away. Even one of his fingernails was chipped.

“Did you hurt anything else?” Phil asked quietly. The shorter man's voice was gentle against Techno's frayed soul, and Techno shook his head slightly. “Okay. We'll take care of your hands later. Techno, listen to me. You didn't kill Tubbo, and you didn't kill Wilbur. Do you understand that?”

Techno thought for a moment. Slowly, painfully slowly, his real memories of the Festival appeared.

Schlatt had stood there with an angry yet hurt expression. Tubbo had been on his feet, staring at Techno with wide eyes. Techno had pulled the trigger, blown up the stage, and fought his way out of Manburg. No one had died that day.

“I... didn't kill Tubbo,” Techno croaked eventually. “But... I...”

Tears slipped down Techno's cheeks again. He gave up on words and just leaned back into Phil's embrace, allowing the shorter man to hold him. The wind whipped around them, and a few specks of snow slipped past Phil's wings and landed on Techno's face.

“What if I just let the snow bury me?” Techno asked tiredly. Darkness was creeping into the corners of his vision, and he was slurring his words, but he was determined to finish his thought. “Then I wouldn't hurt anyone else. I... I'd just be dead. That sounds kinda nice.”

Phil's chuckle was warm but edged with an emotion that Techno didn't quite recognize. “Sorry, Techno. I'm not letting you die.”

Techno shifted enough to look directly at Phil. The shorter man's face had that same worn quality that Techno had seen back at the campsite once the L'Manburg soldiers had left. “Yeah, well, you've got the same deal,” Techno mumbled. “You don't get to die while I'm around.”

“I don't plan to,” Phil said lightly. Again, it sounded forced.

“No, you don't get a say in this. Between you and me, we can keep you alive.”

Finally, a real smile touched Phil's face. “Okay. I won't die. Only for you, Techno.”

That was good enough for Techno. He slumped against Phil once again, letting the darkness sweeping around his mind take over. He was safe while Phil was around. The shorter man wouldn't let L'Manburg or Dream or anyone else find him.

One last thought drifted through Techno's head before he slipped into sleep.

 _Phil's the only thing keeping me alive_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you are so inclined, please drop a comment and let me know what you thought! Any feedback is good feedback lol
> 
> Side note, I’ve never seen Philza as a father figure to Techno (probably because I’ve watched too many streams of them hanging out as friends lol). Even if it’s technically canon, their interactions (even while RPing) have just completely swayed me to “found family/best friends” 😔


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